What It Means To Be King
by Mich22
Summary: Under the threat of the blight, Fereldin was in need of a ruler. A ruler to unite them all and fend off the darkness. In the end, the choice had fallen to her. And now there was one question on everyone's lips: Why him?


"And have you seen how _**frilly**_ this collar is?!" Alistair ran a shaken hand through his hair as he paced in tight lines around the room.

Well, in all honesty, he wasn't _wrong_–the shirt, though fine, rich, and a crisp white, did seem to have a fair amount of…uh…..…_decor _attached. Grey stone walls, well lit by the afternoon sun streaming through red and gold curtains, and furnished with dark wood vanities and shelving. Other than the nervous wreck in it, everything else in the room was the very definition of luxury. His companion, who sat lazily on one of the window sills, had been bearing the blunt of his complaints all morning. Which fork do you use first, the awkward small talk with nobles, was it okay for his palms to be _this _sweaty, and of course, the severe lack of cheeses. A smile, one that was quite amused, graced her lips.

Alistair had never been a man to react to the face of danger with anything but humour. She knew him well enough to know that all these petty frustrations were merely a cover for the man's own nerves. And he knew, that after all they had been through together, he could trust her. Tell her anything. Which also included how–

"I look ridiculous!" His pacing slowed and he turned to look at her, "I…._feel_ ridiculous."

The man looked like he was wrestling with the malicious collar now….and losing. Did he manage to make it look worse? Finally, that was motivation enough for her to jump off her perch. And as she approached, the dark circles adorned under his eyes became visible. Sleepless night, panic over a collar: Ladies and gentlemen, your new king. She had to let out a little laugh at the sight.

"Well if you look bad in even the finest clothing in all of Fereldin, I don't think anything can save you." She teased lightly, clearly enjoying this more than she ought.

"Oh ha ha. You're so funny. Rapier sharp wit." Hazel eyes would have shot daggers at her if they weren't so occupied with the alarming piles of ruffles on his clothing. At least his sense of humour hadn't been lost…unlike his sense of fashion. Any observer would be shocked to see how casually the Hero and the King of Ferelden spoke to each other. She closed the gap between them, calmly returning his hands to his side, and then began to fix his collar herself. There was a height difference between them, though he had noted that long ago. His gaze softened as he looked down upon her lovely head.

"….Can I…ask you something?"

She didn't look up from her task. "Was that the question?"

"Ye–…no!" He groaned, "You know what I mean." The man huffed. Alistair sighed, trying to form the words before he spoke for once, though he still began as hesitant as before.

"Why did…why did you choose me over Anora?"

Her fingers stopped from their task. A pause. The land had needed one ruler, one ruler to unite them all, and the choice had fallen to her. The widowed Queen Anora or…well, Alistair. She turned her gaze up to him, a quirked browed coupled with another amused smile. Was this what had been bothering him this whole time? Her lips parted thoughtfully before replying:

"Why?"

Not only was answering a question with a question **completely** unsatisfying, now that his concern was out in the open, Alistair could not contain himself a moment longer.

"_Why?"_ He repeated incredulously, "What do you mean _why_? That's what **I'm** asking **you!** Anora's more clever and all…" He flailed his arms vaguely in the air, "-political! And clearly she thinks she's suited for the job–"

"That's why she isn't. "

She interrupted. A beat of stunned silence passed. The new King's confused expression was met with a wry smile. He cleared his throat before trying to continue with his objections.

"Anora has the experience."

"As a noble." She corrected, "And she's only ever survived as a 've _**lived.**_ Seen life as a Templar, as a Bastard, as a Grey Warden–you've gone to the great walls of Orzamar, trailed the outskirts of the Bracillian forest, looked straight into the eyes of the Archdemon and come all the way back." She dismissed his argument with a wave and a grin. "And soon you'll have all the fine cheeses you want as a noble too."

He did not seemed convinced. "Anora knows the people. She understands them."

"Does she? Based off of what? Stereotypes? Prejudices? " She scoffed, "You've met an exception to every one of those ideals. A Qunari who's gentle, and admires art as much as he admires sweets. An assassin who's loyal, a bard who can fight, a mage who wants freedom, an old woman who's more resilient than you or me."

"Anora…" She exhaled, "Her understanding–what she thinks she knows so well has made her…like a ship trapped in ice. The elves will always be cornered to Alienages, the mages will always be trapped in the tower. But you know every single one of those people are so much more. You're going to bring change."

A weak smile finally broke through to the surface of his expression. She thought all these things of him, and yet he didn't feel nearly so great at all. "The people adored her, you know."

"But they'll _**love**_ you."

"I just–"

She placed her hand on his cheek, and he found the words leaving his breath, caught in her steady gaze.

"Sometimes the people who don't want power, are the ones who deserve it the most." The girl smiled gently, "You've got a soft heart, Alistair." His expression crumpled a little, almost as if he were ashamed. He tried to avert his eyes, but slender fingers slowly lifted his face to hers. "And I think…." She spoke slowly, "Having a soft heart in a cruel world….is the bravest thing a person can have."

"Alistiar…as much as it may feel like it, everyone isn't out for themselves. The Kingdom doesn't need more people like Anora. They need more people like you. A soft heart–-why is that supposed to be an insult? Don't let the bitterness of the world make you hate. Don't let cruelty make you unkind. Don't let any pitfall, any obstacle, make you stop believing in, and caring for others. That's what makes a good ruler, a _**great **_one."

"How can Anora have the experience, when you've seen life through the eyes of every citizen of Ferrelden; from dwarf to elf, mage to templar, and noble to beggar alike. How could the people love a woman willing to backstab, tooth and nail, to keep her power…over a man who has never put himself before the needs of others, a man who is, and will be gentle, kind, and just to the very end?"

"Don't you see?" She looked up at him with a little laugh, "I didn't have to choose at all."

Alistair straightened his back. She smiled at him, and he, at her. A moment of silent understanding passing between them and not another word was needed. As they walked towards the grand doors, the crowd's cheers heard from the inside. As he paused right before the door to take a nervous breath, and to look at her one last time.

And as she wrapped his shoulders in a snowy mantle before he left, she knew, she was looking at a King.


End file.
